


The Riddlemaster of San Francisco

by Larathia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story of a hunt under San Francisco's streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Riddlemaster of San Francisco

"There are ways this could suck more," grumbled Dean, "But you know, right now I can't think of any of them."

Sam checked his bag for spare batteries, decided they _probably_ had enough. It was the tablet he was more worried about, but the laptop definitely wouldn't make it and it wasn't as if you could reach a wifi hotspot this far underground anyway. "We could leave it alone," he offered conversationally. "I mean it may've actually done the world a favor."

"Eating fifty people is not doing the world a favor, Sammy," growled Dean. "Even if they _are_ douchebag Scientologists. What's it gonna eat _next_ time it gets hungry, huh?"

"Good point," Sam conceded, shining his light this way and that. The stone corridor had looked like a sewer at first, but it was, now, clearly something else. "You know, this might be old Mason stonework. The Scientologists only bought the place in the past few years."

"Fuckin' sphinxes," groused Dean, his light fixed on words carved above a choice in the path. There was a corridor going right, and a corridor going left. Above the corridor going left, the words _WRONG. WRONG._ had been carved. Shining the light above the other way, there were no words at all. 

Sam shrugged and went left. "Come on. It can't help but leave clues. This way."

"Saying it's wrong is a clue?" asked Dean. "What, like 'definitely don't go this way'?"

"Sphinxes like word puzzles and riddles," said Sam. "Wrong, written twice. Two wrongs. As in _Two wrongs don't make a right_ , Dean. The clue was 'don't make a right'."

Dean stared a moment - well, he was proud of Sammy for being good at the puzzles, yeah, but "Seriously. We're tracking a punning Sphinx."

"Something like that, yep," said Sam distractedly, shining his flashlight down the corridor for signs. "You got the other stuff, right?"

"Of course I did," said Dean, holding up a little bag. "I really hope you got your sources right because otherwise we're heavy on the fucked side."

"I'm pretty sure of them, Dean, thanks for the vote of confidence," snarked Sam. "What's with you about this one, anyway?"

"That," said Dean, pointing at a choice of three ways now. Each had a litle alcove beside it, lit with a candle, and a little ...possibly a diorama, or model, or something, illuminated by it. "You can't tell me that's right."

Sam approached the little models. One was a small glass house. One was a ceramic statuette of a lone palm tree on a tiny, isolated island. The third...was a Hulk Hogan action figure. "Huh."

"You see what I mean?" demanded Dean. "It's not enough we have to chase it through a bunch of _who fucking dug these tunnels anyway_ , but we have to solve puzzles too?"

"Well, we could try the old string method," said Sam absently, picking up the action figure to study it more closely. "But it could get pretty Temple-of-Doom if we do. The riddles show the safe way, and the research suggests the safe way really is - well, _safe_." He turned the figure around in his hands. "It's not real. It's a copy. Look - no manufacturer's stamp."

"Why the hell would a sphinx make a _copy_ of a cheapass doll?" asked Dean, frustrated. "I'm gonna kill this thing just for the _headache_ this shit's giving me."

"I think this is the way we go," said Sam, pointing to the way guarded by the Hulk Hogan doll. "They're all proverbs. Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. No man is an island." He held up the doll. "When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

Dean stared. "When was the last time this thing poked its head out to do something other than eat?"

"Probably a while," Sam agreed, putting the doll down and heading off down that corridor. "It just ate fifty people. It's either really really big or it doesn't feed that often. Or both."

"Oh, that's comforting," grumbled Dean, marching off after his brother. "Just tell me we're getting close."

"Probably," agreed Sam. "What's the plan?"

"You said it has to ask a riddle, right," said Dean. "So let it ask you. Stall as long as you can and I'll arm the crossbows. Throw you one and then we shoot it. A lot."

Sam grinned. "Taking this one kind of personally, huh?"

"Damn right," said Dean shortly. "Bad enough we had to spend a week trawling eBay for the goods. Now we've got to play riddlemaster with this thing."

"It's not like having a labyrinth under San Francisco is easy to manage," drawled Sam. "It's got to be the Masons. So the way isn't something that changes, just the riddles. The Scientologists probably didn't even know when they bought the old Mason lodge that it hid the entrance."

"What gets me is why the Freemasons would build all this for a sphinx," said Dean, peering around a bend in the corridor. "Lot of effort for a monster."

"Could have been reverence," said Sam. "They use a lot of Greek and Egyptian symbology. And it might not feed that often. Hold up. I think I can hear it."

The brothers fell silent and still, listening. There was indeed a deep sound, like heavy, slow breathing. Sam held up his flashlight, questioning. Dean crouched down, tugging crossbows out of his bag, and bolts without tips. He gestured _gimme the bag_ at Sam, who passed it over. Dean nodded toward the sound, and Sam set off alone, shining his light ahead at the sound.

The light shone off a pair of very large, cat-slitted eyes, and a deep yet somehow feminine voice spoke. "I will grant you three guesses. I come in different shapes and sizes. Parts of me are curved, other parts are straight. You can put me anywhere you like, but there is only one right place for me. What am I?"

_Dead_ , Sam thought, but didn't say. "Um." The trick was not to answer right away, and to get the first two wrong. That was the plan. But part of him was also judging the size of those eyes and the distance between them and filling in the darkness with a very, very large creature. They'd spent a week getting the ammunition on eBay and suddenly Sam wasn't sure it was enough. Crossbows took time to reload and he was thinking about the scale of the paws (and claws) that would be coming very shortly. "Those, uh, those weird little Russian nesting dolls?"

**"WRONG!"** roared the voice, loudly enough that Sam reflexively checked his ears for blood. His head was ringing with it. How the hell did they not hear that at street level? He scrambled back away from it, shaking his head, trying to clear the thudding ache. The thing had some lungs on it.

It had caught Dean's attention too; rather than let Sam get blasted by another wrong-guess roar he threw Sam a loaded crossbow. Sam caught it and aimed for the reflection of eyes.

This time the roar was much much louder. But Dean was firing too, and Sam threw his crossbow back to him for reloading. 

The instructions had been clear; answering correctly somehow weakened a Sphinx's defenses. Made them feel insecure and stupid. So Sam yelled - though his head was ringing to the point that he could barely hear himself - "Puzzle piece!"

This time the roar was less loud, more pained. And Dean had time to reload and throw the crossbow back to Sam.

Thud. Thud. Two more bolts. And the roar was more of a slow moan, trailing into silence.

The brothers reveled in the silence until their heads stopped ringing from the roars. "It worked. Color me stunned," said Dean at last, turning his flashlight on the remains of the sphinx. It was _huge_. "What would your old college buddies have said to you using Nietzche's desk pen as a weapon?"

"Same thing they'd have said about using Hemingway's, Dean," sighed Sam, getting up. "Waste of a very expensive pen. It's not like they knew about sphinxes." He eyed the body. "Think we could safely pull the pens out?"

"Nope," said Dean cheerfully, tugging a gallon canister of gasoline from the bag. "They get burned with the rest."

Sam shook his head. "You don't have to enjoy it quite that much you know."

"I tried to read Hemingway once," said Dean. " _Once_. Man couldn't find a comma with both hands. Gave me a headache. Now get the other can of lighter fluid would you?"


End file.
